


Where the Current and the Heavens Collide

by significantowl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: summerpornathon, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/pseuds/significantowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freya and Merlin in a cottage by the sea.  <i>Maybe it's the same for Merlin, beneath her. She's the air he breathes and the taste on his tongue, and he knows her magic like she knows the sea: there is kinship between them, deep and undeniable, but neither their power nor their purpose is the same.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Current and the Heavens Collide

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Hush Sound's "Echo." For the "Light and/or Dark" challenge at summerpornathon 2013. Many, many thanks to Capriccio! ♥

Merlin's shoulders are strong beneath Freya's thighs, and she slides forward along his chest, pushing into his chin, his nose, loving the way he feels between her legs.

He licks along her clit, nice and slow, and Freya sucks in a breath. The air in the cottage is heavy with sea salt, and she likes the way it smells, tastes; she is freshwater, herself, and the ocean is exotic and unspeakably ancient when it fills her nose and lungs.

Maybe it's the same for Merlin, beneath her. She's the air he breathes and the taste on his tongue, and he knows her magic like she knows the sea: there is kinship between them, deep and undeniable, but neither their power nor their purpose is the same.

Merlin's fingers dig into her back, pulling her closer still, and Freya's thighs tighten as she changes the angle, rising slightly on her knees. He licks again and again, still slow, reverent, his broad tongue building waves of heat within her. Her knees are either side of his head, but looking down, she can't see his face. She's still wearing the new gown he gave her, one he had waiting here at the cottage - Merlin has always loved to give her things, and now that she doesn't need them, Freya finds it easy to accept. The gown is a dark, shimmering purple, the silk cool against her legs, and it pools over his head, covering Merlin completely.

Perhaps that was his wish. Perhaps he wanted, in this, to be her supplicant only, a priest of the Old Religion worshipping the Lady of the Lake.

The darkness beneath her, beneath her dress, must be deep and wet and made of shifting shadows. Are Merlin's eyes open? Does he believe he’s being given a glimpse of what it was like, all those years beneath the waves?

Merlin's mouth is talented, his tongue as clever at this as at casting spells, and Freya rocks forward without thought, chasing the pressure, gasping as he nudges higher. Merlin's fingers slide down her back, along her curves, and grip her thighs. Over the harshness of her breathing and the distant crash of the sea, Freya can hear each slick pass of Merlin’s tongue until, quite suddenly, they stop; he presses flat along her clit and holds there, heavy and steady. Freya holds herself steady too, by sheer will alone, and oh, Merlin's a clever one indeed, because with every passing moment her heartbeat's pounding harder between her legs. She wants him to move, she wants it more and more, but that's the thing about she and Merlin - they have all the time in the world.

Like currents of cool water, the silk of Freya’s gown shifts over her breasts with every rise and fall of her breath. She palms herself, sliding a hand slowly around a curve, fingers inching upwards, letting the silk pull and swirl gently over her nipple before she finally lets herself touch. She rolls the peak slowly through the dress, the silk softer than her fingertips ever could be. It sends a jolt through her, making her grind down onto Merlin's face.

He takes his cue and goes to work, shorter, harder strokes that Freya keeps time with, pinching and rolling. She wonders for a moment what it would feel like for him to lick her through the gown, wet silk slip-sliding along her clit, but she's certainly not going to ask him to stop now. And she knows it's not what he wants. Freya has the light of the sun on her face, her hands, her chest, coming in warm through the window of this cottage by the sea. Merlin has the darkness, and he has her, and she knows - by the way he's almost bruising her thighs, in part to keep her in place, in part to keep from reaching back to grip his cock - that's what he's looking for.

Soon she’ll be done, soon she'll slide down Merlin’s body and pull him in, and he won't try to roll her over, he'll want her to stay above him. He'll close his eyes and she'll press her elbows to his shoulders, holding him down, her hair curtaining his face, and he'll thrust inside her until he's spent.

Freya's close now, a breath away, the tide swelling deep within her, unstoppable. She loves this moment, perhaps even better than what follows; loves the promise and the certain, sweet inevitability, the knowledge that something bright and glorious awaits.


End file.
